


helpless when he smiles

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-21
Updated: 2008-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-06 10:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8745997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: A little fic about how Dean feels for Sam.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

  
Author's notes: Miss. Cinnamon is my beautiful, beautiful beta, who I am completely lost without!  


* * *

There’s something about the way Sam smiles that’s always made Dean weak. The honesty that’s there, the openness; the love that Sam seems to give so easily. Things Dean’s only dreamt of doing, of being, and when that smile’s turned on him, his heart skips a beat and his knees go inexplicably weak.

 

That smile works better than any puppy dog look Sam’s ever given him, but he’ll never let his brother know. He can’t, because then it’d just be too easy for Sam to break what’s left of him. Sam wouldn’t mean to do it, he knows by the way his smile falters in his uncertainty of Dean. It takes a look, one small tilt of the lips from Dean and that smile’s back in full force. Brighter, stronger than ever.

 

Dean also knows that Sam’s smile is different each time and for each person. Like when they’re with Dad, when they’re talking about things Sam doesn’t want to know or remember. Things they’d all like to forget. It’s never more forced than then, never less Sam.

 

So Dean takes to doing what he can to keep that forced smile from ever touching Sam’s lips. Stupid, worthless things that Dean would never think twice about, but Sam seems to melt over. Like a reassuring hug, or an encouragement over the simplest of things: an A on a test that Dean doesn’t think they’ll ever need to know, or when Sam gets a move down just right-at least enough that Dad’s not riding them about it for the next three hours. He always smiles up at Dean from his position on the floor, sweaty, hair tousled and grateful. He’s so damn grateful when Dean claps a hand on his shoulder and whispers praise that Dad would have his head for. _This is his safety, our lives,_ is what Dad would say. _You can’t baby him forever, Dean._ Maybe not, but he wants to, he tries to.

 

He doesn’t think of it as babying, he thinks of it as giving Sam what he deserves: acceptance, love, something to smile about. A heart to break that isn’t Sam’s.

 

Dean’s weakness has always been Sam, doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. As much as he loves family, as much as he loves their Dad, _Sam_ is his real weakness. The one he’d walk through fire for, and has so many more times than he’d ever let his brother know- or even their father. It’s his burden, it’s greatest accomplishment- keeping that Sammy smile.

 

He should have known that as powerful as that smile is on him, it’s nothing like when Sam pleads with it. The dimmed brightness, soft at the corners, hesitant. Eyes going just as soft. _Please_ , is all he has to say and Dean’s giving. Giving whatever Sam can take, whatever Sam _will_ take.

 

It’s the summer after Sam’s junior year and they’re miles from the motel. Dad and Sam at it again, Dean caught in the middle. Nothing unusual, just painful. Sam leaves, Dad swears and like always, Dean gives. He chases after Sam, he wants to try and wipe the anger from that perfect mouth even if it means hurting himself.

 

This time it takes Dean awhile to find Sam, an hour or more, he‘s lost count. Sam’s standing in some open field, beer bottle in hand and just staring. Staring up at the stars like he does sometimes, face empty and eyes unfocused. Dreaming of some far off place, Dean’s sure. Some place where he doesn’t have to run from a motel every other night, doesn’t have to change schools and lie about who he is. Someplace where he’s just Sam Winchester and that’s enough. At least, that’s what Dean thinks. He’s been there a time or two himself, wanting to just be enough. Wanting something different, but mostly for Sam.

 

“Don’t you ever get sick of it?” Sam asks quietly as Dean approaches. He doesn’t turn around, he doesn’t even acknowledge that he knows its Dean. Just asks his question and waits.

 

Dean sighs, because he’s been down this road before. He may not have let Sam know, he's always acted like what they have is everything he wants, but he’s had his own doubts. His own fears and maybe now’s as good as time as any to share that with Sam. Put him at ease.

 

“I am sick of it,” he admits. “But there’s nothing else I want.”

 

Sam shakes his head, an almost disgusted look crossing his face. “How can you want this?”

 

Dean shrugs. That’s one he doesn’t have an answer for. There’s a lot of things Dean wants that makes him sick, that make him wonder what the hell happened to make him this way, he just can’t explain any of it. Like why when Sam looks right through him, his chest aches. Or when Sam reaches a hand up to him, his breath catches.

 

His skin goes tight when Sam brushes against him because it’s never enough, and his hands itch to touch whenever Sam looks in his general direction. And sometimes even when he doesn’t. There’s no explanation for why he likes to watch Sam sleep, or why curling a hand in his brother’s messy brown hair makes it easier for him to breathe.

 

Dean doesn’t have an explanation for a lot of things and they all make him sick. Because he knows they’re not right, because he knows that if Sam ever found out he’d be disgusted. Feel betrayed, maybe that his older brother could ever want to hurt him like that. Dean accepts it, he stays quiet and searches for that smile instead, and it’s enough so long as Sam’s smiling.

 

“I get it,” Sam says finally, turning to Dean. His voice is laced with awe, eyes wide as if he weren’t expecting to ever know.

 

Dean frowns and shifts a little uncomfortably, wondering if while he was caught up in his own thoughts he’d stupidly said something he hadn’t realized. “You get what?”

 

“I get why you want this, even when it makes you sick.”

 

“You do?” Dean asks, his stomach knotting itself up. How can Sam get it when he doesn’t?

 

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. He shakes his head and turns back to the night sky. He doesn’t say anything else, lets Dean stare at him lost and in total confusion. When its clear Sam’s not going to elaborate, Dean steps a little closer.

 

“Why then?” Dean prompts. “Because I sure as hell don’t get it.”

 

Sam laughs and loops an arm around Dean’s shoulders. “Sure you do. It makes sense when you think about it.”

 

Dean raises a brow and pulls back to look at his suddenly cryptic younger brother, wondering how many beers he‘s had already. There’s no trace of disgust or anger now, in his voice or in his features. Sam’s forgotten the fight, he doesn’t seem to care anymore with this sudden realization he’s refusing to share with Dean.

 

“It does?”

 

Sam nods, draws Dean closer and presses his face into his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah. In some weird, twisted way it does.” He nuzzles at Dean’s neck, arms slipping around his waist. “I’m sick,” he whispers. “So sick.”

 

Dean’s heart skips a beat and he places a shaking hand on the back of Sam’s head, the other on the small of his back. “I know,” Dean says. Doesn’t know what else he can say, or offer to make that tightness in Sam’s heart ease. “Me too.”

 

Sam seems to take comfort in that and holds Dean tighter, the beer in his hand falling to the ground with a muted _thunk_. They stay like that until Dean’s not sure he’s getting enough oxygen to stay conscious with his temptation close, so close, and Sam’s half asleep, nose and mouth pressed to the base of Dean’s throat.

 

“Sammy,” he whispers, hand slipping to the back of his neck. “C’mon.”

 

His brother jerks at his name, mouth sliding across warm skin and Dean gasps, moans, then covers it up with a series of coughs. Sam’s disoriented, eyes hazy with sleep and he doesn’t seem to notice. So Dean counts his blessing and drags his younger brother from the field and back to the motel.

 

Tries to ignore the heat of Sam’s face pressed to his shoulder again as he half stumbles, half relies on Dean to get him home. Sam yawns and Dean feels his mouth, his lips dragging against the thin cotton of his t-shirt. Sharp press of teeth, wet heat of his tongue as Sam faintly licks his lips.

 

Its beginning to feel a lot like torture and Dean wonders if maybe Sam knows, if he’s teasing him on purpose as some kind of payback. Or a test, and the minute Dean caves and puts his arms around Sam’s and fucks into his mouth Sam will push him away. He'll stare in disbelief and fear, Dean having confirmed his suspicions.

 

Dean shakes his head and scolds himself for thinking of something so stupid. Sam doesn’t know, if he did he’d bring it up, talk it to death -or Dean to death. Disgusted by it or not, in truth, Sam would be as understanding as he could. He would smile sympathetically, and try to understand, but in the end just distance himself. Not purposely, but it’s all the same when it means losing Sam.

 

He unlocks the motel room door quietly and sends a silent prayer of thanks to whoever that the lights are off and Dad’s sleeping or gone. He’s really not up for a second round, his sleepy -or tipsy, he’s not really sure -younger brother providing more than enough reason for him to be exhausted.

 

Sam trips into the room, laughing quietly at himself. Dean grins, Sam’s laughter infectious and hushes him. Sam rolls his eyes but doesn’t make another sound as he kicks off his shoes. He peels off his jacket next and Dean’s heart lodges in his throat. Sam’s still fully clothed and already Dean’s imagining otherwise.

 

He watches guiltily as Sam pulls his t-shirt over his head, tousling his already messy hair. He grins at Dean when he catches him staring, like it’s nothing unusual and tosses the shirt across the room. He clears his throat and turns away as Sam reaches for the buttons on his jeans. Dean toes off his own shoes and tries to ignore the sound of Sam’s jeans sliding down his hips, and following his shirt and jacket to the growing pile on the floor.

 

Dean jerks his jacket off and kicks his jeans to the floor. He’s never wanted to go to sleep more badly than he does right now. Sleep, where he can forget that they’re brothers. That Sam doesn’t know, doesn’t want him that way. Sleep where he’s finally safe.

 

He thinks twice about taking his shirt off and in the end climbs into bed with his boxers _and_ his shirt on -just in case. Dean buries his face in the cool pillow, and sighs quietly as the tension eases from his body. Sam’s on his side of the bed, there’s no more arguing, no more yelling, and Sam’s not even mad at him.

 

He’s just drifting to sleep when he feels warm breath brush across his ear, then lips and his body goes numb. Numb and completely awake, because Sam’s there, he’s _there_ , and Dean can nearly feel every inch of him. Dean shifts, trying to put some much needed space between them but Sam just follows. Nuzzles closer every time Dean tries to distance them until he finally gives in with a frustrated growl.

 

Sam sighs behind him, slips an arm over his waist and drops his hand low on Dean’s belly. His hips jerk, dick straining against the confines of his boxers. Dean rolls over, presses into the mattress and closes his eyes. Tries to forget, to sleep it off. But then Sam’s leg is sliding between his, hips lifting to press against Dean’s.

 

He gasps, hips jerking furiously into the mattress and dragging his erection painfully across the rough material. Sam’s hard, his dick rubbing against Dean in slow circles at first, breathing heavy in his ear. He lifts his head and turns to face Sam, panicked at the sudden assault on his senses, and finds his brother asleep. Face twisted in pleasure, bottom lip clenched between his teeth.

 

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, burying his face back into the pillow. Sam hasn’t done this since he was thirteen and Dean teased him about it mercilessly. Only ever bringing it up because if Sam did it one more night, he was going to turn Sam over and fuck him into the mattress.

 

Sam answers his curse with a low keening noise and humps desperately against Dean in search of release. He feels his own cock twitching with every soft sound, every thrust until Dean can’t take it any longer and he’s sliding a hand down between his legs. Fists his dick and pumps fast, hard, rough. He doesn’t deserve the pleasure coursing through him, he doesn’t deserve to call Sam his brother the way he’s abusing that privilege right now, but he can’t stop it.

 

He tries to, but gives in when Sam’s teeth scrape his shoulder, mouthing wet against the cotton of his t-shirt and comes hard. Sticky wet heat coating his hand, his boxers, the sheets. Seconds later he feels Sam come too, feels Sam’s own sticky heat leak through both pairs of boxers- his and Dean’s, and suddenly he’s hard again. He jerks his hand away and rolls over on his side, back to Sam. Lets his brother cuddle close, sated with a smile he should never see and lets his guilt eat away at him.

 

Dean lays there till morning, still and angry- sick. He waits until Dad leaves to get up, and peel off his boxers and throw them furiously into his duffel. He sees Sam stir and darts for the bathroom, for the toilet and then the shower. Where one sickness washes away the other.

 

Last night was inexcusable. Sam was asleep, he didn’t know what he was doing- but Dean, Dean fucking well knew better. He’s exhausted and torn between wanting Sam and wishing he’d never laid eyes on the kid, at least not like that.

 

He’s in there so long, Sam finally pounds on the door in agitation. “Dude, Dad’s back and waiting. Hurry it up, will ya?” Like he’s in the shower jerking off instead of wishing himself out of this life.

 

A lump forms in Dean’s throat, unshed tears stinging the back of his eyes. He can’t muster up a response for Sam, so instead he pulls back the shower curtain and throws a bottle of motel shampoo at the door. Let his brother think he’s annoyed.

 

“Oh, fuck you,” Sam mutters with a loud thump on the door. Then he’s gone and Dean’s leaning against the shower wall, forcing back sobs. Yeah, fuck him.

 

He slams his fist against the tile, not registering the sharp sting or the pain shooting up his arm. Just the sounds from the other room, the T.V., Sam’s voice high and agitated, probably cursing Dean. Why not? He deserved every bit of Sam’s anger, more even.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “So fucked.”

 

He screws his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. He can’t hide out in the shower all day and he sure as hell isn’t ready to face Dad or Sam. Which means there’s only one thing left for him to do, and that’s to disappear for the afternoon. They don’t have any hunts going on right now and it’s a Saturday, not like any of them have to be anywhere.

 

Dean dresses quickly, reminding himself as he goes he’s just going to slip out while Sam’s in the shower- he groans, slapping a hand to his forehead. Thinking about Sam in the shower is the absolute last thought he needs to have right now.

 

“Coffee,” he says quietly. That’s what he’ll think about. Just. Coffee. How much trouble can that get him into?

 

He tosses his towel over the shower rod and keeps his head down as he leaves. Narrowly avoiding missing Sam in his haste to get the hell out.

 

“What’s your problem, man?” Sam says, knocking his shoulder into Dean’s. “You’ve been in the shower for over an hour.”

 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, jerking back. He’s sorry for everything. He scratches the back of his head and watches through lidded eyes the confusion that fills Sam’s face as he backs into the bathroom. Confused, almost worried, but never suspecting that Dean could want to hurt him so badly. Because that’s all he’d do if Sam was ever delusional enough to return his feelings. If not physically, by thoughtless words and careless actions. Flirting with people who don’t mean a damn and hiding it from Dad when Sam would want to be out and open about it.

 

He shakes off stupid worries that will never matter and turns to find Dad eyeing him curiously as well. Dean can swear a blush is creeping up his neck under all this scrutiny and gives a tight lipped smile. “I’ll be back later,” he says, grabbing the keys to the Impala off the nightstand.

 

Dad nods, watching him out the door which he slams a little too hard. Wincing, he jogs towards the Impala and starts her up. The comforting roar of the engine has him relaxing in his seat and the only thing left on his mind for the moment is coffee.

 

He drives to the furthest diner he can find without crossing the state line and pulls in. It’s the usual tacky, rundown joint but it beats the hell out of the nicest coffee shop in the country because it doesn’t have Sam to taunt him with.

 

Dean sits in a booth in the far back, watching out the window as no cars pass by while he waits for his waitress. A tired looking woman with dark brown eyes and dirty blonde hair, who waits patiently for him to notice her. Normally that wouldn’t be long, but today he’s a little distracted.

 

“Coffee,” he orders when he does finally notice her. “Black.” None of that girly, cream and sugar shit like his brother likes. Sweet and undrinkable, not leaving any coffee taste at all. Just a sugar buzz and a headache for later.

 

She nods and leaves him to his thoughts again, not making a single comment about his own worn down appearance. Or the fact that it took him five minutes too long to notice her and order something as simple as coffee. Dean leans back in the booth, takes a good look around the place and wishes he hadn’t.

 

The only people in there are the kind of people Dean’s always taught Sam to stay away from. The ones that look like they have other things on their mind than the usual, than even hunters and with someone as sweet and trusting as Sam that just spells bad news.

 

He clenches his jaw and curls his hands tight around the edge of the seat. Sam, always fucking about Sam. No matter what he does, what he looks at or sees, it all comes back to Sam, and even now after what he’s done he can’t forget. He just can't let go.

 

The waitress comes back with his coffee a moment later, setting it down wordlessly and wondering away. She knows he’s just there for the coffee, he knows she’s seen people like him go in and out. Trying to forget, to hide. He doesn’t question it and accepts it. Is thankful for it.

 

He brings the coffee up to his lips and takes a long swallow, enjoying the bitter burn that races down his throat. The coffee’s stale, terrible. But it’s hot, black, and nothing like Sam would ever drink. And for now that’s enough.

 

Dean sits there staring out the window for an almost an hour, and doesn’t even finish his first cup of coffee. If Sam ever saw that, he’d- no. No, no, no. He wasn’t thinking about Sam, wasn’t relating him to every God damn thing about his life. He slides out of the booth and drops his money on the table, he doesn’t bother to wait. Just makes his way out of the diner and back to the comforting confines of the Impala. Starts her up and instantly relaxes. He cranks up the music, some tape he’d thrown in the other day and doesn’t really listen as he leaves.

 

The sun beats down on him, sweat trickling down his neck. He shrugs off his jacket and keeps driving. He drives around for hours, not anywhere near ready to go home but knowing there’s only so many circles he can make before he’s going to have to pull over and kill something. Besides, he’s pretty sure someone’s about ready to call the cops on him with all the dirty looks he’s been getting for the past half hour. It’s best to head home and face the music, or more like pretend it never happened.

 

When Dean gets back it’s nearing sun down and Sam’s sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the door. Leaning back, propped up on elbows and watching some educational shit on the T.V. Big fucking surprise. Dean barely acknowledges him as he kicks the door closed. Just drops down in the chair next to the door, as if ready to run any second. Which is probably a good thing considering he doesn’t see Dad anywhere.

 

Sam sits up, gives him a soft smile. “Hey. Where you been?”

 

Dean shrugs in answer, never taking his eyes from the T.V. even as Sam stands and shuts it off. He feels a little guilty for all the ways he’s blowing Sam off, but it’s better than pinning him back on the bed and blowing him.

 

“Where’s Dad?” he asks uncomfortably. When Sam stands there, hands on hips and waits. It’s never a good sign when Sam takes away his distractions.

 

“Is this because of me?” Sam says instead, frowning as he makes his way back to the bed. “The way you feel about me?”

 

Dean’s stomach sinks, his head whipping back to Sam. “What?” He swallows nervously. “What are you talking about?” A million different possibilities run through his head. The way he touched Sam-was it too much? Or had Sam really heard the appreciative moan the other night? Or is he maybe, just that pathetically transparent?

 

“You talk in your sleep,” Sam informs him hesitantly. “A lot.”

 

“Christ,” Dean mutters to himself. The place he thought he was safest is what’s done him in. He shakes his head, marveling at his stupidity and is amazed once he’s done berating himself that Sam’s staring at him with a look of nervous curiosity.

 

He shakes his head again, he knows that look. Know Sam’s about to give him that childlike smile, about to ask for something Dean shouldn’t give. Sure enough, he’s barely opened his mouth when Sam’s lips curve up, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip, then the scrape of teeth.

 

That pretty, pretty mouth about to damn them both.

 

“Do you mean it?” Sam asks. “The things you say in your sleep.”

 

Dean eyes him warily. “I don’t know what I say in my sleep. I didn’t even know I talked in my sleep until now,” he grumbles. What a lame ass way to let Sam know his feelings.

 

A blush creeps into Sam’s features and he drops his head for a second, but not before Dean can see the widening smile. Jesus, Sam’s getting off on this. He likes torturing Dean a lot more than he should about this.

 

He shifts, feeling his body respond to that thought. To Sam’s smile. “What do I say, Sam?” he prompts softly, throat tight and voice husky with fear and desire. This is a road he shouldn’t be taking, yet here he is. Asking. Sam’s given him the perfect opportunity to ignore it, to deny whatever he’s said and base it all on ignorance. Instead he’s _asking_.

 

“You say,” Sam squeaks. He clears his throat, but doesn’t lift his head. “You say a lot of things.”

 

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean feigns innocence. “Like what?”

 

“Dean,” Sam growls. “C’mon. I don’t want to play.”

 

He slides lower in his seat next to the bed, spreading his legs wide, welcoming. “I can’t tell you I mean something, when I don’t know what I say,” he teases.

 

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam hisses, voice strangled. “You say a lot of things in your sleep.”

 

He rubs his leg against Sam‘s, smiling to himself when Sam moves closer, head still lowered in embarrassment. It‘s so cute it makes Dean almost wish he wasn‘t playing with Sam- _almost_.

 

“Got that,” Dean says instead, voice practically a purr. “What else?”

 

“You talk about how I taste,” Sam mutters, covering his face with his hands. For someone who brought the whole thing up, he sure is bashful about it all of a sudden. His face and neck flushed, lips twitching behind his hands. “What you want to do to me.”

 

Dean stifles a groan, images flooding his senses. He doesn’t know what Sam tastes like, only the way he tastes in dreams. The way he feels, now that’s another story. Every inch of Sam makes him want something different, something more. From that all too kissable mouth right down to his lean hips. “Things I want to do to you?”

 

“Kiss me,” Sam whispers, licking his lips. He lifts his head, staring straight at Dean and for a second he thinks it’s a request. Even considers leaning over and taking the opening Sam’s giving. Spit slicked lips, shiny, pink- fucking more than Dean can take, then, “You talk about fucking me.”

 

And like that, game’s over. Dean’s taken it too far, knew when he first saw that smile that Sam wanted to know more, wanted to push. He gave Dean his chance to walk away and he stupidly turned it around. Enjoying the way Sam’s cheeks flooded with color, his voice high and uneven, damn near shaking when Dean touched him.

 

Felt good, fucking felt amazing to play with Sam like this. Like it was going somewhere, like it could. It’s over now though, he doesn’t want to hear what Sam has to say next, what too well thought out idea that’s about to spill out of those lips. Soft, pink chewed lips practically begging for Dean to lick his way past.

 

He pushes out of his chair and shrugs. “I guess I do say a lot of things.” He’s breathless, heart pounding in his ears but he hopes Sam doesn’t notice that when he forces a grin.

 

“Do you mean it?” Sam repeats, coming to his feet too. “Because if you mean it-”

 

“No,” Dean cuts off sharply, cursing himself when Sam winces, embarrassment and shame flooding his features. “It doesn’t matter,” he says softer this time. “You’re my brother.” It’s a reminder to himself because he wants to lean forward and capture Sam’s mouth with his, he wants to swear over and over that everything he’s said and more is true.

 

“It matters,” Sam insists and takes a step forward. That shy, almost smile curving his lips again, childlike and dangerous. “If you mean it.”

 

“How long,” Dean swallows. “How long have I been saying these things?” He doesn’t know what else to say to Sam. He knows he can’t admit to it anymore than he can deny it.

 

“Two,” Sam shrugs. “Maybe three months.”

 

“Wow,” Dean says, taking a step back as Sam comes forward. “That’s a long time.”

 

Sam nods his agreement, hands ghosting over Dean’s sides. “Every night,” He adds quietly. “But you don’t just say things.”

 

Dean freezes. “What?”

 

Sam freezes too, face scrunching up with regret and acknowledgement of his mistake. “Dean.” His voice is placating, like he’s talking to a child. Whatever Sam was about to say is lost now and he doesn’t want to bring it up again.

 

“No,” he cuts off Sam‘s attempt at making excuses. “What else do I do?”

 

Now Sam looks uncomfortable, his hands falling back to his sides. He reaches up, scratches the back of his neck and tries to stall for time. He obviously wasn’t expecting this kind of reaction from Dean and now he’s wondering if he should lie or tell the truth. All of it.

 

“Sam,” he warns. “What. Else. Do. I. Do?”

 

“Sometimes,” Sam starts, then sighs in resignation. “Sometimes you touch me.”

 

Dean blinked, once, twice. _Sometimes you touch me_ , rang in his ears. He felt the ground sway beneath his feet, all the color draining from his face. Jesus, fuck. He presses his hand to his mouth to keep from throwing up his coffee, swallows hard and sits back down before he falls on his ass. “I what?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Sam says quickly, but all Dean hears is _sometimes you touch me_.

 

“Sammy,” Dean gasps, tears stinging the back of his eyes. “Sammy, fuck. Fuck…I.” There aren’t any words for what he’s done, the way he’s hurt Sam. It was one thing for him to have these thoughts, to want Sam. But to actually force himself on Sam? Sleeping or otherwise…that isn’t okay.

 

Sam swears under his breath and covers Dean’s knee with his hand. “No, Dean. Really. It’s okay.”

 

Okay? No, not okay. Nothing about this is okay. He brushes Sam’s away and leans back in his chair. He stares at Sam, the worry and concern so misdirected, so wasted on Dean. He doesn’t deserve it, he wishes Sam were angry, would have said something sooner. Told Dean, told Dad, anyone as long as he told.

 

He doesn’t know how bad it’s been, just that it’s been every night for two or three months and Sam’s not saying. He chews on the inside of his cheek, inspecting Sam carefully as if he’s missed some bruises, some signs that he’s been molesting his younger brother in his sleep.

 

“What else?” Dean asks. This time it’s not a game, he’s not getting off on Sam’s reactions or the words coming out of his brother’s mouth, even if he’s just repeating Dean’s own words. Now he’s physically ill, regretful and wondering how seriously fucked he’s made things.

 

“You don’t, you haven’t…forced me,” Sam answers awkwardly. Cheeks on fire again. “If that’s what you’re thinking. It’s just touching, Dean.”

 

“Just touching,” Dean repeats. “What the hell does that mean, Sam?” Demanding now, scared. How could he do something like that? Asleep or not there has to be something in him to stop it, to know better than act on his feelings.

 

Sam recoils a bit, tears his gaze from Dean. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t bring it up to hurt you.”

 

“Hurt me?” Dean gapes, not for the first time since Sam dropped this bombshell on him. “Sam, it’s not me I’m worried about!” He hesitates, then leans forward and turns Sam’s face to him. Thumb stroking his jaw. It‘s dangerous and fucked, but he needs it. Needs to know. “Did I hurt you?” he chokes out.

 

Sam shakes his head. “You wouldn’t-”

 

“I didn’t think I’d fucking molest you in my sleep either,” Dean cries. “Sam, if I forced-” he swallows back his bile and tightens his hold on Sam’s face. “If I raped you, you have to tell me. Okay? You have to tell me, Sam.”

 

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “I told you, Dean. You wouldn’t do that.”

 

Dean relaxes, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Sam’s telling the truth, he can feel it. This isn’t just about protecting him anymore, Sam’s indignant about Dean knowing he’d never hurt Sam that way. “What did I do?” he winces as he asks it, but in some sick way he needs the details.

 

“Dean,” Sam whines, forcing Dean’s mouth to tilt up in the beginnings of a smile. His voice is petulant, stubborn- what he wants to hear from Sam always.

 

“I need to know, Sammy,” he says quietly, his brief reprieve from the situation broken as his eyes fall to Sam’s lips. Even now, knowing what he’s done awake and asleep, he still wants Sam. He lets his hand drop quickly, the familiar itch to touch kicking in.

 

Sam sighs and wraps his fingers around Dean’s wrist lightly, refusing to let him pull away all together. “It’s not a big deal, Dean. I know you weren’t trying to make me do anything I didn’t want to. You were asleep, we both were. I’m not even mad.”

 

“You should be furious,” Dean disagrees heatedly. “I should never take advantage of you- no matter what the situation, Sam. You have to know that.”

 

“I do know that, but it’s not the same.”

 

Dean snorts and shakes his head. Sam’s lost his mind, there’s just no other explanation for this easy acceptance at being violated by his older brother. No other explanation for why

 

Sam hasn’t beaten the shit out of him like he deserves, or at the very least told Dad.

 

“Stop stalling,” Dean orders gently. “Tell me what I did, all right?”

 

Sam frowns, brows drawing together in irritation. “Dammit, Dean. I already told you-”

 

“Not what I wanted to know,” he cuts him off sharply. “Either tell me or I’ll go tell Dad what happened and you can explain it to him.”

 

“Dean!” Sam’s face pales, eyes going wide with disbelief and a hint of fear. “You can’t!”

 

“I will,” he threatens. His own stomach is turning cartwheels, damn near shaking at the idea of having to confess to Dad that he’s been harboring unnatural feelings for Sam and worse, that he’s been acting on them against Sam’s will. The disappointment, distrust, fear for Sam…he couldn’t stand to see it on Dad’s face, not knowing that Sam didn’t feel any of those things. Just…what did he feel? Curiosity? Surprise? Fuck, understanding? If that were even possible.

 

“It didn’t mean-”Sam stops mid-protest and turns a questioning gaze on Dean. “It didn’t mean anything, did it?”

 

Dean hesitates, wants to shake his head, reassure Sam and move on. But he can’t.

 

“I just thought,” Sam hedges. “Maybe if you meant it…” he leans forward, brushes his nose against Dean’s. “I just want to know, Dean. How it feels.”

 

“Sam,” Dean chokes, protests, sinks into Sam’s words.

 

“It felt so good,” he whispers in the space between their mouths. That last, desperate inch. “When you touched me, when you said those things- I’d never felt like that before. I just want to know. Okay?” Sam nods, asks again with his eyes, with that smile and Dean’s helpless. He lets his eyes fall closed, feels Sam whisper against his lips, “I just want to know,” and he’s gone.

 

Sam’s mouth is soft against his, hesitant but sure. He hears the soft hitch in Sam’s breathing, feels his hands start to shake as they come up to cup Dean‘s face. Then he’s taking control, fisting his hand in thick locks, licking his way into Sam’s mouth before he realizes it. Groaning into that perfect mouth as Sam makes a whining sound in the back of his throat.

 

Then he’s pushing away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth and staring wide eyed at his younger brother. His younger brother who’s just kissed him, who he’s just _let_ kiss him. Sam stares back, eyes just as wide, lips parted. He raises a hand to his mouth makes a quiet sound of appreciation as his eyes fall shut. A new smile Dean’s never seen before stretching across his face.

 

Dean clenches his hands into fists at his sides, refusing to palm his cock, straining against his jeans in a desperate attempt to reach Sam. He’s so fucked. So unbelievably fucked.

 

“Now you know,” he whispers. He stands up, walks a wide berth around Sam and heads for the bathroom. The shower. He needs the coldest shower in history and the biggest bottle of tequila this side of Mexico, because now they _both_ know.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: Miss.Cinnamon is still my beautiful beta, THANK GOD:)Tho, as I posted in my LJ, I desperately need another one! She's so busy lately and I need ridiculous amounts of help at the moment, lol. Anyone interested or know where I can look? xoxo  


* * *

Dean thinks Sam’s kissing him is about as fucked as it gets, but when he finally manages to drag his ass out of the bathroom-without hanging himself-and finds Sam gone, he realizes that he doesn’t know what fucked is. Because fucked is making Sam feel like he’s the one responsible for everything, fucked is damn near raping his brother and then running _him_ off.

 

Then again how shocking could it be that Sam is taking the blame for Dean? That’s what they do for one another. They protect each other, defend each other-even _from_ each other.

 

So Sam’s leaving? It isn’t all that unusual. It was either that or push the subject, and Sam’s already done that.

 

Dean throws on a pair of loose fit jeans and a flannel shirt he’s fairly certain is clean. Right now he’s more worried about Sam and the mistakes they’re both making. The keys are in his hand as he steps out of the motel, half shrugging on his jacket still when the blood all starts to rush south.

 

He’s isn’t going to have to look far for his younger brother, two feet maybe, five at most. Depends on whether or not Dean can get his legs working again, or maybe his brain. The door clicking shut behind him is what startles him forward.

 

Sam’s stretched out on the hood of Dean‘s Impala, long legs kicked out and crossed at the ankles. His hands are behind his head, neck exposed, and his mouth. His mouth is tilted into a smile. Sam’s fucking stretched out on his car and grinning at Dean like he knows there’s no escape. Like he’s absolutely helpless when it comes to Sam.

 

Dean scowls and considers going back into the room when Sam’s eyes flick over to his, betraying the confidence in his smile. Sam licks his lip and lowers his eyes, like he knows somehow he’s been found out. It would be so easy to walk away now, to leave Sam there and hope that it’s enough for him to get the point, but Dean knows it isn’t. Eventually they’ll have to talk and it’s better if they do it before Dad gets back.

 

“You can’t sleep with me anymore,” Dean says, taking a step towards the Impala and the younger brother that suddenly embodies sex and everything Dean wants but shouldn’t want and can’t have. “Starting tonight you sleep with Dad. I can’t risk hurting you.”

 

Sam sits up a little, palms flat against the hood and Dean has a sudden image of Sam bent over the hood, legs spread, hips and palms against the Impala with Dean biting at his neck, flashing through his mind. He feels the flush creep up his neck as Sam stares intently at him, and he hopes like hell it‘s not obvious what he‘s been imagining.

 

Sam’s lips purse in consideration and his eyes narrow. “You’re not hurting me,” he finally says. “We’ve been over this.”

 

“No, Sam,” Dean shakes his head. “We haven’t been over anything.” If they had, Sam wouldn’t be lying across Dean’s Impala like he’s just waiting to be fucked. Like that’s what he wants to happen.

 

Sam sighs and drops back against the windshield, completely losing interest in the conversation. Or at least it’s direction, Dean realizes when Sam’s voice washes over him a few seconds later. “You know what I liked best about it?” Sam asks.

 

“Sam,” Dean warns.

 

His brother’s gaze flicks to his, a small smile tugging at Sam’s lips. “I liked it when you called me, baby. You did that a lot…you-”

 

“Sam!” he chokes out. “Just stop.” His cheeks are flaming red by now, he’s sure. His entire body is made up of throbbing need, heat infusing every inch of him and his senses. He doesn’t know what he did to Sam in his sleep, he doesn’t know the things he said, but this is more than he could have imagined.

 

“What?” Sam sighs, turning away from Dean again. “You wanted to know, right?”

 

“Not what you liked about it,” Dean swallows. Details were bad enough, Sam’s likes and dislikes just wouldn’t do anything besides screw him over. “Just how bad I hurt you.”

 

Sam ignores him, locks his hands back behind his head and turns his attention to whatever thoughts he’s not speaking. It’s probably best it stays that way, probably best that Dean walks away from it now that he’s said everything there is to say. Except…

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He slides onto the hood beside Sam despite the warning bells in his head and lays back against the windshield. “If I had known…”

 

“You would have tried to push me away sooner.” He feels Sam shrug beside him. “I wasn’t going to bring it up at all. It was stupid.”

 

“No,” Dean disagrees. “What was stupid, was not telling me sooner.”

 

“That wasn’t the stupid part,” Sam grumbles. He makes to roll off the Impala and Dean’s hand catches him last second, dragging him back.

 

“That was the stupid part,” he growls. Sam has to see that no matter who it is, no matter what feelings Sam has for that person, they can’t just touch Sam. Assault him in his sleep and then walk away from it like it was okay. Like everything was just perfect.

 

“We can fight about this until you turn blue, Dean. It doesn’t change the fact that I wanted it, and that I don’t regret it. Any of it. So why don’t you just back off if all you’re going to do is tell me how fucked up I am.”

 

“I’m not saying your fucked up,” Dean argues, glancing around the parking lot nervously. He’s afraid that if Sam’s voice gets any higher all they’re going to get is an audience, not a solution. “I’m saying that I’m fucked up. That I fucked you up.”

 

Sam glares, his jaw clenching so tight Dean can practically hear it pop out of place. “Fine,” Sam agrees suddenly, in an amazing turn around that should have made Dean suspicious. “Fair is fair.”

 

Before Dean can blink, or think twice about Sam’s sudden change in attitude, Sam’s in his lap. Mouth sliding over Dean’s in a violent crash of lips. He bites sharply at Dean’s mouth, hands jerking Dean’s head back roughly.

 

Dean gasps, giving Sam the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past Dean’s lips. His brother licks obscenely at every inch of his mouth, fingers tightening in the short strands of Dean’s hair to the point of pain. He reaches up, covers Sam’s hand with his own, unsure of whether or not he wants to stop Sam or pull him closer. Sam releases his mouth with a growl a moment later, leaving them both shaken.

 

“Sam?” he says, pulling back. _Holy hell._

 

“Oh, God,” Sam groans. He drops his forehead to Dean’s shoulder and lets his hand fall to Dean’s chest. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”

 

He nuzzles into the crook of Dean’s neck and waits for Dean to make things okay. To give him the go ahead or shut him down. Dean swallows back the moan building in his throat and rests a hand hesitantly on top of Sam’s head.

 

“Fair’s fair, right?” Sam repeats. “You fucked me up, I fucked you up. Now, we’re both just _fucked_.”

 

“I…” he doesn‘t know what to say to Sam. He needs to stick to the truths that will end this situation before it gets any worse, not encourage his brother. “This can’t happen, Sam. You know that.“ _Doesn’t matter how fucked we are._

 

“Why” Sam asks. “Why can’t we do this, Dean? If we both want this…”

 

“Because it’s fucked up. You want normal so damn much man, but this will fuck you so far up and you won’t be able to come back from that.” Dean’s words are harsh, but Sam needs to hear them. He’s living in some fantasy world if he thinks being with his brother could ever be labeled normal.

 

“I’d rather be fucked up, than normal if it means being with you,” Sam whispers against the back of his neck.

 

“You don’t mean that, Sam. “ Dean shakes his head. Normal is everything Sam’s ever wanted and he can’t mean that he wants to give that up for Dean.

 

“Is it really that important to you?” Sam asks, pulling back and frowning. “That we give up something we want for the sake of normal? What about hunting, Dean? That’s not normal and you’d never walk away from that. So why me?”

 

“It’s not about normal for me,” he argues. “This is about giving you what you want. You want normal, and I can’t give that to you. Especially not in the form of my tongue down your throat.” Which, Christ, would feel so good right about now.

 

Sam straddles Dean, his hands resting against the side of Dean’s neck. “I want this Dean, and I know you do, too. The way you touched me…that has to mean something.” Everything about Sam’s actions, everything about his words scream fuck normal, fuck me. Dean just can’t believe that.

 

“Sam, stop,” He turns his head away to avoid the pleading look in Sam’s eyes, the knowing in his voice that just won’t let Dean lie about his feelings no matter how hard he tries. “It’s not going to work this time.”

 

Sam leans back on his hands, wordlessly and bringing their groins together. Dean hisses, his hands instinctively coming up to grip Sam’s slender hips-to pull or push away. His brother’s lower lip disappears, his head dropping back as he rocks forward and Dean can’t do much else besides stare and swallow convulsively. His own body responding to Sam’s slow grind.

 

“Sammy,” he finally manages to push past dry lips. Every word, every protest he’s got building up in his mind is lost when Sam’s head lifts, hooded eyes daring him to ruin this. “Fuck,” he whispers. “Oh, fuck.”

 

He wants this and Sam knows it; every word Sam’s said today has been true, has been exactly what Dean wants to say but knows he never can, because no matter how he rationalizes things what they’re doing is never going to be okay. It doesn’t matter which side is more logical, it doesn’t matter how much he truly loves Sam, they’ll never win this fight.

 

His brother’s not so naïve that he doesn’t realize it, he just doesn’t care as long as Dean says it’s okay.

 

Dean drops back against the windshield, staring up at the deceptively bright blue sky that doesn’t seem to fit his mood in the least and prays that if nothing else, he doesn’t fuck Sam up for life. Everything’s already gone so far and he can’t take any of it back, he honestly doesn’t know if he wants to.

 

Sam’s hips roll in a tight circle and every thought Dean’s ever had steadily begins to leak out his ears, until soon he can’t even remember his name or why what they’re doing is wrong. He just wants more, he wants to be closer.

 

“Sammy,” he breathes, reaching for his brother, only to have his hands pinned at his side.

 

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Sam pants, mistaking Dean’s attempt at drawing him closer for pushing him away again. “If you tell me this isn’t what you want, I’ll leave it alone, Dean. I promise. I just…” Sam’s head drops against Dean’s chest, his thrusts becoming more desperate.

 

“Just what?” Dean prompts, managing to free a hand. He strokes Sam’s back soothingly, giving in to the need to touch. “You just what?”

 

Sam’s head lifts enough for him to rest his chin against Dean’s chest, tilting to the left to bring hazel eyes to moss green. “I just want you so much,” Sam whispers. “I want this to work.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean swallows, his hips jerking. “I want that too, Sammy.”

 

Fuck if he doesn’t want it all, want everything Sam’s willing to give, even if that means condemning his soul.

 

Sam grins, sliding back up Dean’s body until their mouths and hips meet. He kisses Sam slow and deep like he should have been from the start, soaking up every last moan or whimper pushing past Sam’s lips. Sam’s hard and desperate, thrusting up against Dean’s hips. He wants to pull away, wants to stop things, but his hips are doing the same thing. Giving and taking from Sam with every rhythmic slide of the tongue.

 

“Call me baby,” Sam pants. Breath hot and heavy in Dean’s ear. “Please.”

 

“Sam,” Dean hesitates. This is going too far. They’re humping against each other like sex starved teenagers whose parents have finally left town. A fast, steady rhythm dragging moan after moan from their mouths.

 

“Please,” Sam keens, his hips losing rhythm. “Please, Dean. I need it, I need-” Sam breaks off, his arms winding around Dean’s neck in a death grip.

 

“I got you, baby,” he soothes. “I got you.”

 

Sam bites down on Dean’s shoulder, letting out a muffled cry that has Dean over the edge only moments later. He curses low and filthy against Sam’s neck, spasms wracking both their bodies. Sam collapses against Dean, his sudden weight and Dean’s misplaced sense of reality, sending them tumbling back against the windshield.

 

Dean groans and shoves his fist into his mouth, fighting the urge to lean up and rip Sam’s pants off all together. He closes his eyes, focusing in on the rapidly beating heart against his chest.

 

“We need to get cleaned up,” Dean says once his breathing slows. But he doesn’t move.

 

He wraps his arms around Sam, pulling him across his chest. This is stupid, everything about this is stupid. Things went too far, too fast, and out in fucking public. Dad could have driven up at any second and there was no hiding what they’d been doing. It wasn’t like they were in the motel room with time to separate. They’re splayed out on the hood of the Impala in front of their room, in broad daylight.

 

Sam sighs and finally pulls himself up into a sitting position a few minutes later, his knees framing Dean’s sides.

 

“Can I…” Dean asks nervously, his eyes falling to Sam’s lips as they twitch and shift into a grin that stops his breathing all together. It feels like forever since he’s last tasted Sam.

 

“Anytime,” Sam teases as he licks across Dean’s bottom lip. “I’m yours, right? No reason to ask.”

 

Dean drags his gaze from Sam’s lips up to warm, hazel eyes. Sam’s his?

 

He nods, dumbfounded by the easy acceptance of his possession of Sam. He’d never thought of Sam to be jealous or possessive, because with possessive there always came jealousy, he was always so understanding and stubborn about that fact.

 

“Mine?” he repeats. The word tastes so right, but his mind is screaming at him that it’s wrong. Sam’s his brother and he has no other claim, nothing stronger than that blood and the bond they’d formed over years of his taking care of Sam. Of Sam giving him strength.

 

“Yours,” Sam agrees around a soft press of lips. “No one else.”

 

Dean breaks the gentle kiss and swings his legs over the side of the car. He drops down and pulls Sam with him, letting Sam thread their fingers together. Sam squeezes his hand and allows himself to be led into the bathroom.

 

He lets Sam have the shower first, setting clean clothes on the sink so that Sam won’t come out in a towel, or worse, naked. Dean grabs his own clothes and waits anxiously, shoving by Sam the second he walks out the door. He locks it behind himself and showers in relief.

 

Dean thinks about hiding out in the shower for possibly the rest of his life, but he figures Dad’s back by now. He towels off and dresses slowly, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn’t hear arguing, or the sound of the television. It’s too late now though, he’s dressed. The shower’s been off for too long for Sam not to have noticed by now.

 

He sighs and steps out of the bathroom, nervously meeting Sam’s gaze. His brother’s leaning against the small table, water bottle poised at his lips. Dean swallows hard, tracing the shape of Sam’s mouth with his eyes, and down his neck, watching Sam’s Adam apple bob with each swallow.

 

Dean finally tears his eyes from the all too intoxicating sight, and buries his clothes in his duffel, hoping that for once out of sight, out of mind will pay off. And it might have-if Sam’s hands weren’t on his waist.

 

Sam’s mouth is covering his again, hands sliding back underneath Dean’s shirt, before he’s even processed the fact that Sam’s suddenly in front of him. Dean quickly grabs hold of Sam’s hands, fear coursing through him. The sound of the lock turning on the door gives Dean a quick way out. He can’t do this. Not with Sam, not now, not like this.

 

“Dad’s back,” Dean says, pushing Sam back a step. He’s thankful for the interruption, for the break from Sam’s mouth and his hands. With Dad there Dean’s hoping he can get back to some semblance of normal, or control.

 

He greets Dad at the door, well aware of the fact that Sam’s right on his heels. He can practically feel his brother breathing down his neck.

 

“Hey,” he sighs in relief.

 

“Hey,” Dad laughs in response, taking his sons’ eagerness at his return for hunger. “Dinner’s on.”

 

Dad tosses the greasy sacks down on the table, curious when they don’t immediately attack the food. Dean steps away from Sam quickly and drops down in the chair next to the one Dad always sits in. Sam doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s eagerness to put space between them, or he takes it for guilt or fear of being caught. Either way, Sam takes his seat and the burger Dad hands him. There’s nothing off about Sam, he doesn’t even seem worried, and it pisses Dean off.

 

Sam reaches across the table under the pretext of grabbing a napkin from the stack next to Dean. He tries to ignore the shiver that wracks his body when Sam’s fingers brush over his wrist, tracing briefly along his hand, but instead finds himself leaning towards the touch, the instinct to follow Sam around like some damn puppy kicking in. He quickly straightens and takes the seat furthest from Sam.

 

He’s already made up his mind, he’s not going to let things go any further then they did this afternoon. It can’t be that way between them. Dean keeps his eyes down, concentrating on the burger Dad’s set in front of him. His stomach rolls at just the thought of eating, but he forces himself to take a bite; act normal.

 

He nearly gags as he tries to force his dinner down; he’s too nervous, too sick to keep it up for long. The silence stretching out between the three of them isn’t helping, and neither is the memory of what’s happened less than an hour ago. Dean feels like Dad knows somehow; it’s ridiculous, but that’s the way it feels. As if everything is narrowing in on him, like Dad’s watching him a little more closely than normal. His senses are heightened beyond reason; he has to do something now before he has a complete breakdown.

 

“I think I’m coming down with something,” Dean says, desperate for something. He watches as Sam’s gaze lifts and sets his burger down, just waiting for Dean to screw things up. He can’t do it though, not the way that Sam thinks. The best he can do now is distance himself and try his best to make it up to Sam for all those times Dean touched him in his sleep. For what happened today on the Impala. “Maybe Sam should sleep with you tonight. I wouldn’t want him to get sick, too.”

 

Dad frowns and nods. “That’s probably for the best. I don’t need you both getting sick on me.”

 

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean and mumbles something under his breath that to Dean sounds suspiciously like “I’m already fucked, what‘s the difference?” and then louder for their ears. “I think I need some air.”

 

Dean nearly chokes on Sam’s mumbled words but quickly covers it with a round of coughing to emphasize his earlier words of coming down with something. He knows what he did was wrong, leading Sam on, making him think he’s accepted them, but he just can’t do it. He can’t hurt Sam that way, and it doesn’t matter what Sam says, it is hurting him. It’s taking away any choices he’ll ever have, making him keep secrets that could ruin everything.

 

He didn’t lie to Sam all together. He wants them to work and he wants everything Sam wants, the difference is he just _can’t._

 

Dean feels a little more normal than when the meal started, and finishes with relatively no difficulty, besides the fact that by the time it’s over he’s almost certain he’s on the edge of a breakdown. But, other then that. Everything’s great.

 

Sitting there next to Dad and replaying this afternoon in his mind, all the guilt slowly eating away at him. He’s almost confessed to Dad about twenty times that he’s been hurting Sam in his sleep, but each time he chickens out, imagines his life without Dad and Sam around and doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do.

 

He finally gives it up when Dad asks him if he’s taken anything today that might have short circuited his brain and hurries through dinner. He throws his trash away and takes a shower, doing anything he can to kill time. Eventually he’s done everything short of running in circles before he’s got nothing left to do.

 

Dean switches on the T.V. and collapses on the bed he’ll be sleeping in alone tonight. He tries not to let it depress him, reminding himself that it’s not anybody’s fault but his own, but that does little to comfort him when the bed starts to feel empty.

 

Sam’s gone for nearly three hours before Dad really takes notice his youngest is still missing. He stands and flips off the T.V., eyes narrowing at Dean suspiciously, as if he’s sent his brother away to join the circus without Dad’s knowledge.

 

“Where’s your brother?”

 

“He went out for air,” Dean shrugs, doing his best to seem unconcerned by Sam’s continued absence.

 

“For three hours?” Dad sighs and shakes his head at the noncommittal shrug Dean gives him. “Go find him.”

 

“Dad-”

 

“Now,” Dad orders. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches Dean stand reluctantly. It’s unusual for Dean to not follow Dad’s orders immediately; it’s even more unusual for Dean not to be the one worrying about Sam.

 

Dad of course doesn’t know what happened this afternoon, or apparently what Dean’s been doing for two, maybe three months, according to Sam. Dean rolls his shoulders, trying to keep calm as he heads off in search of Sam. It doesn’t have to mean anything, he reminds himself. It’s not like earlier; Dad wants Sam to come back inside.

 

He finds Sam in the same position he found him this afternoon, stretched out across the hood of Dean’s Impala, only this time his eyes are closed and instead of looking like he’s playing games with Dean, he looks like he’s just tired.

 

“Sammy, I didn’t do this to hurt you,” he says quietly, not wanting to startle Sam into falling off the Impala. Though Dean’s pretty sure that if Sam’s senses are as attuned to Dean, as his are to Sam, he knows Dean’s already there.

 

“Never said you did,” Sam answers, not bothering to move or open his eyes.

 

Dean nods and glances around the parking lot, refusing to give in to the urge to look. Because looking would never just be looking, with Sam. “You’ve been out here for three hours.”

 

“Thanks for the update, Dean.” Sam opens his eyes and sits up finally, realizing Dean’s not leaving any time soon. “Something you want?”

 

Dean blushes furiously and drops his head. “Dad wanted me to find you.” It’s not an answer to Sam’s question, but it’s not a lie either.

 

“Found me.” Sam slips off the Impala, heading towards the door. If Dad wanted Dean to find him, it obviously means he wants Sam inside, and for once it doesn’t seem that Sam’s going to argue.

 

“I’m guessing that’s not what you wanted though, is it?” Sam brushes by him, turning to see if Dean will follow. He stops, worry clouding his features. “Dean, are you okay?” His concern outweighs his bitterness and he’s stepping closer.

 

Dean reaches shaky hands out, fisting them in Sam’s shirt and dragging him forward. “You’ve got to stop doing this to me,” he breathes. Sam’s so fucking tempting, every damn thing he does. Just the worry now in those hazel eyes make him feel like he’s coming apart at the seams.

 

Sam snorts quietly, catching on immediately. His hand skims along Dean’s side. “Only if you stop first.”

 

It’s not Dean, it’s all Sam. Dean’s done everything to hide what he wants, and Sam kills that with one plea. One moment of completely irrational rationality and a blinding smile from one younger brother, and Dean’s gone.

 

He feels Sam’s arms slip around his waist, feels his own draw Sam in. He’s aware of his actions, but he’s not sure he’s the one controlling himself. The second his lips touch Sam’s he almost positive it isn’t him. He’d been trying to end this, avoiding Sam. How was he kissing Sam now?

 

He doesn’t understand it and he’s frustrated beyond anything he’s felt in his life. But, Sam. Sam’s whimpering and sucking at Dean’s bottom lip, and it’s all so much.

 

Dean swallows the needy sounds coming from Sam’s mouth and pulls him back into the shadows, in case Dad’s patience has run out. He’s ready to lose himself in Sam, so close to the edge of sanity, that if Sam had waited even a few seconds longer, the feel of warm hands sliding underneath his shirt wouldn’t have sent him spinning him back into reality.

 

He pushes Sam’s hands away, stumbling backwards so fast his head’s literally spinning. Sam moves forward, reaches for Dean and he shakes his head furiously.

 

“We’re not doing this,” Dean says quickly. He gulps for fresh air, desperate for anything but the taste of Sam. “I won’t.”

 

Sam stares at him. “So, what? Were you lying about wanting this?” he asks, wiping a hand across swollen lips. His face is surprisingly blank for someone so tense, and someone so emotional as Sam.

 

“I wasn’t lying. I do want this, but Sam,” Dean says holding his hands up before Sam can launch himself across the small distance Dean‘s finally managed to put back between them. “I can’t do it.”

 

“What are you so afraid of?” Sam demands. “I told you I’m yours, and I meant it. I’m never going to even think of anybody else.”

 

Dean laughs a little more bitterly than he intends and winces when Sam’s face hardens. He’s not calling Sam a liar. He doesn’t have any doubt that Sam would be true to anybody, the problem is that Sam would always be true no matter how much he wanted out of the relationship. Especially if the relationship was with his older brother.

 

“I don’t doubt you’d keep it in your pants, Sammy,” He says, trying to lighten things up a bit. He thinks he’s succeeded when Sam’s face softens, mouth no longer a hard thin line.

 

Though the fact that he’s not smiling yet should have warned Dean of what was to come.

 

“You don’t think you can promise me the same,” Sam nods thoughtfully, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “The whole monogamy thing is too much for you.”

 

“No!” Dean half shouts, half swears. “That’s not it at all, Sam. I’m not as big a whore as you think.”

 

“I didn’t say that,” Sam snaps defensively. “But you’re afraid of something and if it’s not that I don’t want you, and it’s not that you can’t be with only me, then I don’t know what else there is for you to be afraid of. Besides Dad, but…he doesn’t have to know.”

 

“It’s not Dad,” Dean mutters. Not all together, anyway. Dad would surely kill him, or at the very least kick him out, but even that didn’t scare him as much as losing Sam did.

 

“Then what?” Sam asks in frustration. “I don’t get it, Dean. I thought we already worked things out.”

 

“It’s not that easy, Sam!” Dean yells, knocking the comforting hand reaching for him, away. “It doesn’t matter how much I fucking want you, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re brothers! I can’t do that to you.” Dean drops his head, exhausted by energy it takes to turn Sam away. “I just can’t.”

 

Sam sighs and hesitantly places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, but this time he doesn’t brush it off or pull away. He just stands there and waits, hoping that Sam can make everything just disappear. Can end whatever he’s feeling, or wanting.

 

“I don’t get what you think you’re doing to me, Dean,” Sam says quietly, but firmly. “But you didn’t make me feel this way, you didn’t force me into loving you. That happened on it’s own and I can’t control it, let alone you. If you want this like I do, then there’s nothing wrong about it. No,” He says as Dean opens his mouth to protest. “Just listen. Okay?”

 

Dean nods and rubs the back of his neck absently.

 

“It doesn’t matter how much you push me away or how many excuses you make up to keep us from being alone together ever again, my feelings aren’t going to change, and I hope yours won’t either. So why make ourselves miserable when we both want the same thing?”

 

Sam fists his hand in Dean’s t-shirt and drags him forward until their mouths are touching. “I love you,” he says simply.

 

He closes his mouth over Dean’s before he has a chance to answer and pulls away just as quickly, the lightest brush of tongue ghosting across his bottom lip. Sam smiles at Dean and takes a step back, his hand loosening, until it falls away all together.

 

“Your call, Dean. Always has been.”

 

Sam turns to go, shy smile still tugging at his lips and Dean reaches for him. He wraps his hand around Sam’s fist and stops him. It really isn’t fair, how helpless Sam can make him, so easily. It’s never been Dean’s call, it’s always been Sam’s. It’s no surprise to him that it’s still that way.

 

“Things aren’t going to change because of this, are they Sammy?” Because he really doesn’t want that.

 

His brother’s smile turns a little sad and then it’s back full force and shining like the sun. “We’re still brothers right?” And like that Sam’s gone. Given into Dean like he’s never done before.

 

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. “We are.”

 

Sam nods, walking backwards towards the room, Dad, and safety. “Then nothing changes.” He smiles a little wider and then pushes through door twenty four.

 

Dean nods to himself and flexes hands he’s unconsciously curled into fists. Nothing changes. That’s what he wants right? Their version of normal. Except, he really doesn’t.

 

Things can’t stay the way they were before today. It just isn’t possible, on Sam’s part or Dean’s. How the hell is he supposed to forget the way Sam kisses? Or comes? The way he pants and begs for Dean to call him baby, to kiss him, touch him, whatever. Because he just wants to know. Sam just wants to know.

 

And Dean just _wants._

 

Dean pushes away from the wall, sparing one last glance for the motel room containing more questions than answers, and walks in the opposite direction. The guilt is eating away at him and sitting in the room all night with both the younger brother he’s assaulted, and the father that’s trusted him his entire life to take care of his brother, isn’t going to work.

 

He cuts across the parking lot, taking deep breaths and doing his best to keep the panic from overwhelming him. He doesn’t deal well with panic, it’s not like him. Dean can handle this, like he’s handled everything else.

 

The streets are dark and the only sound is coming from the bar down the street. Tonight Dean doesn’t really feel like being surrounded by people, or alcohol. Doesn’t feel like flirting and faking, pretending that’s what he really wants, when Sam’s just down the street offering him everything. It’s too much like a slap in the face.

 

He wanders off in the opposite direction, reveling in the emptiness surrounding him. For once everything seems peaceful, and he can pretend like the faint rustle of leaves in the distance don’t mean anything more than the wind, that he’s not already standing straighter and searching the sound out. This is what Sam’s always talking about. Normal, peace, fitting in. Dean’s always shrugged it off, knowing that he loves his family too much to ever walk away, but now he maybe understands a little bit of what Sam’s been talking about.

 

It’s nice to feel like everyone else for a change. Even if the only reason he feels that way is because he’s in love with his brother.

 

Dean stops in his tracks and drops his head between his shoulders. Man, and how fucked is that? He’s in love with his brother and its making him see the things around him differently. Very differently. What he’s not seeing differently though, is how wrong it is. He wants to see it differently, wants to look at it the way Sam does, and think that things are okay as long as Sam’s okay with it. But the truth is, he can’t.

 

Sam says he wants this, has made it pretty damn clear that he does. Dean can’t help but remember the fact that he’s been hurting Sam long before he showed any interest in Dean. Sam can say whatever he wants about it, but Dean’s been hurting Sam. Touching him in his sleep, against both their wills. Or at least actual consent.

 

What’s really fucked is that Dean wishes he remembered it. Dean wishes that he’d been conscious, could know exactly what it felt like the first time he’d touched Sam. The sounds Sam made, how easily Sam had given in, or if he’d fought against it before giving in. That thought makes him a little sick to his stomach, thinking of how Sam may have struggled against Dean. Afraid to wake Dad and get Dean in trouble, but unable to wake Dean without waking Dad too.

 

Dean keeps walking, trying to shake those thoughts. If he’d really hurt Sam, he would have said something. He wouldn’t keep something that big from Dean. Would he? No. Dean digs his fingers into the palm of his hand. There’s no way Sam would keep it to himself, no way that he could act so normal around Dean if he had hurt Sam. There was just no way.

 

Doubts whirling through his mind, Dean keeps a slow pace, wandering down back roads. He’s vaguely aware of the time passing around him, the night darkening until pitch black is an understatement, and silence stretching on endlessly. He knows he should go back to the motel, but he can’t do it. Not yet.

 

He wants to be close to Sam, too close. He can’t risk going back now and hurting Sam, of taking advantage of his little brother. Dean hesitates and then starts back. He doesn’t have to go back to the motel, he reasons with himself. Just closer to it. He’s already walked too far from their temporary home anyway.

 

Dean stops about a half mile from the motel and leans back against the side of a small drugstore, taking care to blend into the shadows should anyone else come along. He’s not exactly in the mood for company. There’s so much to sort out, so many reasons to stay away that should be more than enough to keep him in line, but aren’t. Not even close.

 

Sam’s his brother for one, and yeah, that’s wrong-illegal even, but so? When has legality ever been an issue for anything in their lives? It could also send him to hell, but Dean’s not exactly afraid of that one. Kind of an expectation in his life. Then there’s the fact that Sam’s four years younger than Dean, just barely legal. Which once again-legal? These are pathetic excuses that don’t mean anything.

 

He’s just scared, he realizes. Scared that Sam doesn’t feel the way Dean does, and that in the end Dean’s going to be the one left hurting. He’s so pathetic, so blind. How could he not have realized it earlier? What’s stopping him from making Sam happy, from _being_ happy, is fear. And Dean’s never let fear stop him before.

 

He can’t believe it’s taken him nearly seven hours to realize that. That’s he stood against this building for almost four hours, and another four wandering the streets, only three of which were spent thinking of Sam. As if that makes it any less pathetic.

 

The sun’s coming up, reminding Dean that he’s been gone all night without a word and he knows seven hours is all he‘s going to get. He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets, beginning the short walk back to the motel. When Dean starts across the parking lot he can see that Dad’s already gone. The space beside the Impala empty.

 

He cringes at the thought of what Dad will have to say when he comes home and finds Dean unharmed. It won’t be anything like what Dad would have to say though if he knew why Dean had been gone in the first place.

 

Dean opens the door quietly, finding Sam in their bed, his face buried in the pillow. Dean’s had all night to think it over and he knows that Sam said things won’t change between them, but they’re going to have to. There’s no way they can look at one another the same, as just brothers. There won’t be anymore comforting or teasing touches, no more roughhousing or wrestling because some where in the back of their mind they’ll always be wondering if there could be more, or if they’ll cross that line again.

 

If things are going to change, Dean wants it to be for the better.

 

He leans down and trails gentle kisses down the side of Sam’s neck, licking his way back up. Sam sighs softly in his sleep and shifts closer to Dean, but doesn’t show any signs of waking up. Dean laughs softly and nips at the Sam’s jaw, hoping that will have more of an effect.

 

“Sammy,” he whispers, shaking his brother gently when it doesn‘t. Dad’s gone for coffee or whatever else and there’s really no need to whisper, not when they‘re alone. Normally Dean would take great joy in scaring the shit out of Sam, or shoving him out of bed, the same as Sam does to him, but this morning is different.

 

Sam groans and rolls over on his side a little, cracking open one eye. “What?” he moans. His breath catching as he realizes how close Dean really is.

 

“You want this?” Dean asks. Sam’s said he wants this more times than Dean can count, has told Dean he loves him, wants to be his, but he needs to hear it again. He needs to know for sure this is right and not completely in his own head.

 

Sam stares at him in a sleep induced state of confusion and starts to roll back over, fully intent on ignoring Dean, when reality kicks in. He snorts and rolls back over in time for Dean to see him roll his eyes.

 

He nods, knowing on some level what Dean needs. “I love you,” Sam yawns, smiling sleepily up at him. “How could I not want this?“

 

Dean returns his brother’s nod, transfixed by the sweet, sleepy smile Sam’s thrown his way. Sam’s words should have been enough to kick start his heart, but that smile, so innocent but sure is slowly killing him.

 

Sam’s brow furrows and his smile dims as the silence between them grows. “Don’t you?”

 

Dean shakes himself from his stupor, forcing himself to focus on Sam’s words. Doesn’t he what? Want this to work between them?

 

“Dean?” he frowns.

 

That’s finally enough to get Dean’s brain working again. He nods and leans forward crushing his mouth to Sam’s. “Yeah, baby, I want this.”

 

Sam laughs and tugs him down, arms winding their way around Dean’s waist. He snuggles close, sighing softly as he shuts his eyes and prepares to go back to sleep wrapped around his older brother.

 

“How sure are you that you want this?” Dean whispers. He knows that Sam’s words don’t change the fact that what he wants is wrong, what he’s willing to give is _wrong_. Sam could say that he’s head over heels in love with Dean, but that doesn’t mean his feelings won’t ever change. Dean just needs to hear it again, one more time, just in case.

 

“Dean,” Sam growls. “The answer’s not going to change. Give it up and get some sleep.”

 

“Dad’s going to be back soon and he‘s not going to be happy. I don’t think being asleep when he gets back is a good idea.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Probably not. I guess I should get dressed then,” Sam grumbles, throwing back the blankets. “He’ll want us up and ready for whatever it is he’s been working on.”

 

“Probably,” Dean agrees, settling back into the pillow as he watches Sam stretch. The plain grey t-shirt two sizes too big, lifting to expose smooth, tan skin. He reaches out, brushing his fingers down Sam’s side and it suddenly occurs to him this is the first time he‘s touched Sam, really touched him and known. “I’m sorry,” he says, pulling his hand back quickly.

 

Sam stops mid stretch, slowly lowering his arms. “For what?”

 

Dean shrugs. “Whatever I’ve been doing.” Sam wasn’t clear on it, wouldn’t elaborate beyond what he’d already told Dean, but he feels guilty as hell nonetheless.

 

“It’s fine,” Sam rolls his eyes. “If I had wanted to stop you, I could have, Dean.”

 

“I’m bigger than you, Sam. Stronger-”

 

“Stop,” Sam orders, dropping back down onto the bed next to Dean. He leans across Dean, nosing at this throat. “You were never forceful, Dean. You rolled over, you snuggled,” Sam grins against his neck, lips dragging across over sensitized flesh. “Who would have thought you like to snuggle?” he teases, sucking at the big pulse in Dean’s throat before pulling back.

 

Dean groans and jerks the pillow out from beneath him, swinging it wildly at Sam. His brother laughs and falls backwards from the bed when a wild shot hits him in the face. Dean glances down to make sure Sam’s okay, and when his brother grins wider and sits up, Dean knows he didn’t hit him hard enough.

 

“Don’t blame me,” Sam mocks from the floor. “You’re the one that likes to snuggle, Dean. Call me baby, kiss my neck.” Sam’s thoroughly enjoying this now and as guilty as Dean should have been feeling over things, he’s only feeling embarrassed about the affections he’s shown Sam in his sleep.

 

“All right, all right,” Dean groans. “Get in the shower already.”

 

“Don’t think this is over,” he warns teasingly as he climbs to his feet. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

 

Dean narrows his eyes and growls, lifting the pillow in warning again. Sam raises his hands up in surrender and backs up towards the bathroom, snickering quietly.

 

“Play nice baby, or no snuggling tonight.”

 

Sam ducks, narrowly missing the pillow that sails through the air at his head. He cocks a brow in Dean’s direction and grins playfully. Dean props himself up on elbows and watches that smile disappear into the bathroom before he has a chance to throw anything else.

 

There was no point in fighting it, in dragging things out any longer than they had. Dean’s never been able to deny Sam anything when he smiles. Everything about it makes him weak, even now after nearly seventeen years. In the end Dean knows he’ll never win, he'll never deny Sam. He might as well take the time he’s been given and be thankful the younger brother he’s fallen in love with, only smiles for him.


End file.
